


Belated Satinalia

by I_Write_Tragedies_Not_Sins



Series: The Way of Thedas one shots [9]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-06 13:04:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13411845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Write_Tragedies_Not_Sins/pseuds/I_Write_Tragedies_Not_Sins
Summary: Melina Amell returns from Amaranthine and King Alistair returns from the bannorn. Alistair has a favour to ask of his friend, and Melina had a gift made for Alistair while she was at Vigil's Keep. Takes place after "A Trial of Faith".





	Belated Satinalia

Her breath fogs against the windowpane, barely obscuring the garden view below. Sharp thorns prick through the heavy weight of snow that sits piled on top of a row of rose bushes. Memories of Lothering flicker through her mind.  _ Rose petals falling to the ground. The warmth of the campfire against her skin. The still of the night air and twinkling stars above their heads as she turns away.  _

“Miss Amell?”

She turns her head, looking at the source of the sudden interruption to her melancholy reminiscing. An elven woman stands before her, skin pale save for her flushed cheeks. Her long, black hair is held in a high, neat knot atop her head, pointed ears peeking through a few falling tendrils. 

The servant curtsies, eyes focused on the ground. “The King wishes to see you, Miss.” 

Melina stifles a sigh, the formal robes itchy against her skin. “Thank you,” she replies. She gets to her feet slowly, legs still a bit wobbly and unsure even after the expedited healing through Faith.

The servant waits until Melina begins to leave before scurrying away, eyes still downcast. The gesture reminds her of the circle. She never realized it wasn’t how everyone acted.

She knocks on the door to Alistair’s private offices. A smile curves her lips when she hears his voice tell her to enter. “Your Majesty,” she says, dropping a curtsy as soon as she enters.. 

He crinkles up his face, arms crossed over his chest. “There’s no one else here. You can drop the fancy titles.” He pauses a moment. “Please,” he adds, lips quirking into a smile.

Alistair motions for her to sit. “So, uh, I, did I ever tell you what happened in the bannorn?”

She shakes her head, wondering where this is heading. He nods, almost absentmindedly, looking over at a large stack of papers. “You know, I never realized how much paperwork was involved with being King. Thanks a lot, Daveth,” he says, tone shifting from detached to annoyed in a sentence. “Anyway, I had a point to this. Somewhere. Ah right, there it is. The bannorn is worried Anora’s the one doing all the leading.” He shivers, and Melina remembers a similar conversation they’d once had, when Maroth had asked why Daveth seemed to be in charge. She had giggled then, when Alistair had made the joke of ending up pantsless. 

Alistair clears his throat. “So, in effort to prove I’m not just sitting around the palace eating cheese all day, I’m going back. To Ostagar, I mean. To retrieve my brother’s corpse so he can have a proper pyre.” 

His face is blank, eyes barely even blinking as he seems to stare straight past her. She closes her eyes.  _ Ostagar. _ She can see it, clear in her mind as if she’d stood there only hours ago. Has it really been almost two years? They had to realize there’d be hardly anything left of Cailan's body. Not after the darkspawn….

She sucks in a deep breath and forces open her eyes. “Alistair?”

“I’m alright, Mels. I never thought I’d go back there. I was hoping…. Everyone else is dead or gone. Duncan. Daveth. Jowan even disappeared. I’m the only warden left and I’m not even allowed to be that anymore.” His fingers curl into fists, muscles straining as he squeezes his eyes shut. “It should have been me that died against the archdemon.”

“You said that after Duncan died, too. I- I don’t think it was meant to be you.” Melina hesitates a moment, shifting in her seat. “The Maker has plans for you. I believe that.”

He glances over at her, and for a moment there’s so much pain in his eyes that it steals her breath, and then it’s gone. Replaced with that blank expression again. “The Maker does, does he? What a cruel plan, to outlive all your friends.”

“I’m still here,” she says, offering him a small smile.

He lets out a choked laugh before returning her smile. “And glad I am for it. Enough moping about then. I didn’t call you in here to listen to my manly whining. I wanted to ask if you’d go with me, to Ostagar.”

“Well, at least there should be less darkspawn this time,” she replies, thinking back on the horde they fought through in the Tower of Ishal.  “At least, I hope so.”

Alistair nods. “So say the reports.” 

To Ostagar, then. She forces her smile to stay in place, but inside she’s dreading it. More than the fear of the lingering traces of darkspawn taint, more than the memory of Lord Cousland dying, she fears facing the girl she was then. Before she had made any bad choices. She holds back a sigh at how different she had been, how morally sound she thought she had been. 

As Alistair talks, her mind wanders to thoughts of Jalyn, as it often does. Is she safe? Is Jowan watching over her? Why did she leave? 

She turns her thoughts back toward Alistair and the conversation they were having. What was… Oh, the bannorn. Yes. The lovely, demanding, bannorn.

“Oh! I almost forgot.” She stands up, shuffling around inside her bag until she finds the piece of polished stone. “Here, I had Voldrik make this for you,” she says.

His puzzled expression slowly turns soft around the edges as he reads the name ‘Duncan’ across the smooth frontside of the stone. Beneath that, the Grey Warden motto was etched in tiny, flowing script.  _ In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice.  _

He looks up at her, tears in his golden eyes. He doesn’t say anything, but his expression tells her all she needs to know. She leans over, pressing a small kiss against his cheek, and turns to go. “Happy Satinalia, Alistair,” she says, heading for the door. “I know it’s a bit late, but it took awhile to get here from Amaranthine. I’ll start packing for Ostagar. Sleep well, my friend.”


End file.
